mck.harpistinthewind-第54章

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　fire　and　sea；　beautiful　and　deadly；　intent　on　destroying　him。　He　did　not　know　how　to　fight　them。　Without　moving；　he　saw　them　in　his　mind's　eye；　fanning　across　Wind　Plain　from　the　sea；　flowing　like　a　wave　in　the　shapes　of　men　and　animals；　their　minds　riding　before　them；　scenting。　They　touched　him　again　and　again；　uprooting　knowledge　in　his　mind；　breaking　bindings　he　had　inherited；　until　his　awareness　of　trees　in　the　oak　forest；　vesta；　plow　horses　in　Hed；　farmers　in　Ruhn；　tiny　pieces　of　die　realm　began　to　disappear　from　his　mind。
　　　　　　　He　felt　it　as　another　kind　of　loss；　terrible　and　bewildering。　He　tried　to　fight　it　as　he　watched　the　wave　draw　closer；　but　it　was　as　though　he　tried　to　stop　the　tide　from　pulling　sand　grains　out　of　his　hands。　Astrin's　army　and　Mathom's　were　thundering　across　the　plain　from　north　and　south；　their　battle　colors　vivid　as　dying　leaves　against　the　whiter　sky。　They　would　be　destroyed；　Morgon　knew；　even　the　dead；　no　living　awareness　or　memory　of　the　dead　could　survive　the　power　that　was　feeding　even　on　his　own　power。　Mathom　rode　at　the　head　of　his　force；　in　the　trees；　Har　was　preparing　to　loose　the　vesta　onto　the　plain。　Danan's　miners；　flanked　by　the　Morgol's　guard；　were　beginning　to　follow　Astrin's　warriors。　He　did　not　know　how　to　help　them。　Then　he　realized　that　on　the　edge　of　the　plain　to　the　southeast；　Eliard　and　the　fanners　of　Hed；　armed　with　little　more　than　hammers　and　knives　and　their　bare　hands；　were　marching　doggedly　to　his　rescue。
　　　　　　　He　lifted　bis　head；　his　awareness　of　them　faltered　suddenly　as　a　mind　blurred　over　his　mind。　The　whole　of　the　realm　seemed　to　darken；　portions　of　his　life　were　slipping　away　from　him。　He　gripped　at　it；　his　hands　tangled　in　the　grass；　feeling　that　all　the　High　One's　hope　in　him　had　been　for　nothing。　Then；　in　some　misty　corner　of　his　mind；　a　door　opened。　He　saw　Tristan　e　out　onto　the　porch　at　Akren；　shivering　a　little　in　the　cold　wind；　her　eyes　dark　and　fearful；　staring　toward　the　tumult　in　the　mainland。
　　　　　　　He　got　to　his　knees　and　then　to　his　feet；　with　all　the　enduring　stubbornness　that　small　island　had　instilled　in　him。　A　wind　lashed　across　his　face；　he　could　barely　keep　his　balance　in　it。　He　was　standing　in　the　heart　of　chaos。　The　living　and　the　dead　and　the　Earth…Masters　were　just　about　to　converge　around　him；　the　land…law　of　the　realm　was　being　torn　away　from　him；　he　had　freed　the　winds。　They　were　belling　across　the　realm；　telling　him　of　forests　bent　to　the　breaking　poult；　villages　picked　apart；　thatch　and　shingle　whirled　away　into　the　air。　The　sea　was　rousing；　it　would　kill　Heureu　Ymris；　if　he　did　not　act。　Eliard　would　die　if　Morgon　could　not　stop　him。　He　tried　to　reach　Eliard's　mind；　but　as　he　searched　the　plain；　he　only　entangled　himself　in　a　web　of　other　minds。
　　　　　　　They　tore　knowledge；　power　from　bun　like　a　wave　eating　at　a　cliff。　There　seemed　no　escape　from　them；　no　image　of　peace　he　could　form　in　his　mind　to　deflect　them。　Then　he　saw　something　glittering　in　front　of　him：　his　broken　harp；　lying　on　the　grass；　its　strings　flashing　silently；　played　by　the　wind。
　　　　　　　A　strong；　clean　fury　that　was　not　his　own　washed　through　him　suddenly；　burning　away　all　the　holds　over　his　mind。　It　left　his　mind　clear　as　fire。　He　found　Raederle　beside　him；　freeing　him　for　one　brief　moment　with　her　anger；　and　he　could　have　gone　on　his　knees　to　her；　because　she　was　still　alive；　because　she　was　with　him。　In　the　one　moment　she　had　given　him；　he　realized　what　he　must　do。　Then　the　forces　of　the　realm　shocked　together　in　front　of　him。　Bones　of　the　dead；　shimmering　mail　and　bright　shields　of　the　living；　vesta　white　as　the　falling　snow；　the　Morgol's　guard　with　their　slender　spears　of　silver　and　ash　closed　with　the　merciless；　inhuman　power　of　the　Earth…Masters。
　　　　　　　He　heard；　for　the　first　time；　the　sorrowing　cry　a　vesta　made　as　it　died；　calling　plaintively　to　its　own。　He　felt　the　names　of　the　dead　blotted　out　like　blown　flames　in　his　mind。　Men　and　women　fought　with　spears　and　swords；　picks　and　battle　axes　against　an　enemy　that　kept　to　no　single　shape；　but　a　constant；　fluid　changing　that　mesmerized　opponents　to　despair　and　to　death。　Morgon　felt　them　die；　parts　of　himself。　Danan's　miners　fell　like　great；　stolid　trees；　the　fanners　from　Hed；　viewing　a　foe　beyond　all　their　conceptions；　nothing　their　placid　history　had　ever　suggested　existed；　seemed　too　confused　even　to　defend　themselves。　Their　lives　were　wrenched　out　of　Morgon　like　rooted　things。　The　plain　was　a　living；　snarling　thing　before　his　eyes；　a　piece　of　himself　fighting　for　its　life　with　no　hope　of　survival　against　the　dark；　sinuous；　sharp…toothed　beast　that　determined　the　realm　would　die。　In　the　few　brief　moments　of　battle；　he　felt　the　first　of　the　land…rulers　die。
　　　　　　　He　sensed　the　struggle　in　Heureu　Ymris'　mind　as；　wounded　and　unaided；　he　tried　to　prehend　the　turmoil　in　his　land。　His　body　was　not　strong　enough　for　such　torment。　He　died　alone；　hearing　the　crashing　sea　and　the　cries　of　the　dying　across　Wind　Plain。　Morgon　felt　the　life…force　in　the　king　drain　back　to　Ymris。　And　on　the　battlefield；　Astrin；　fighting　for　his　life；　wrestled　suddenly　with　an　overwhelming　grief；　and　the　sudden　wakening　in　him　of　all　land…instinct。
　　　　　　　His　grief　woke　Morgon's　again；　for　the　High　One；　for　Heureu；　for　the　realm　itself；　entrusted　to　his　care　and　dying　within　him。　His　mind　shook　open　on　a　harp　note　that　was　also　a　call　to　a　south　wind　burning　across　the　backlands。　Note　by　note；　all　tuned　to　sorrow；　he　called　the　unbound　winds　back　to　Wind　Plain。
　　　　　　　They　came　to　him　out　of　the　northern　wastes；　burning　with　cold；　rain…soaked　from　the　backlands；　tasting　of　brine　and　snow　from　the　sea；　smelling　of　wet　earth；　from　Hed。　They　were　devastating。　They　flattened　the　grass　from　one　end　of　the　plain　to　the　other。　They　wrenched　his　shape　into　air；　uprooted　oak　at　the　edge　of　the　plain。　They　moaned　the　darkness　of　his　sorrow；　tore　the　air　with　their　shrill；　furious　keening。　They　flung　apart　the　armies　before　them　like　chaff。　Riderless　horses　ran　before　them；　dead　frayed　back　into　memory；　shields　were　tossed　in　the　air　like　leaves；　men　and　women　sprawled　on　the　ground；　trying　to　crawl　away　from　the　winds。　Even　the　Earth…Masters　were　checked；　no　shape　they　took　could　batter　past　the　winds。
　　　　　　　Morgon；　his　mind　fragmented　into　harp　notes；　struggled　to　shape　an　order　out　of　them。　The　bass；　northern　wind　hummed　its　deep　note　through　him；　he　let　it　fill　his　mind　until　he　shuddered　with　sound　like　a　harp　string。　It　loosed　him　finally；　he　grasped　at　another　voice；　thin　and　fiery；　out　of　the　remote　back…lands。　It　burned　through　his　mind　with　a　sweet；　terrible　note。　He　flamed　with　it；　absorbed　it。　Another　wind；　sweeping　across　the　sea；　shook　a　wild　song　through　him。　He　sang　its　wildness　back　at　it；　changed　the　voice　in　him；　in　the　winds；　to　a　gentleness。　The　waves　massed　against　the　shores　of　Hed　began　to　calm。　A　different　wind　sang　into　his　mind；　of　the　whiter　silence　of　Isig　Pass　and　the　harping　still　echoing　through　the　darkness　of　Erlenstar　Mountain。　He　shaped　the　silence　and　darkness　into　his　own　song。
　　　　　　　He　was　scarcely　aware　of　the　Earth…Masters'　minds　as　he　battled　for　mastery　over　the　winds。　Their　power　was　filling　him；　challenging　him；　yet　defending　him。　No　mind　on　the　plain　around　him　could　have　touched　him；　embroiled　as　it　was　with　wind。　A　remote　part　of　him　watched　the　realm　he　was　bound　to。　Warriors　were　fleeing　into　the　border　forests。　They　were　forced　to　leave　their　arms；　they　could　not　even　carry　the　wounded　with　them。　As　far　as　Caithnard；　Caerweddin；　and　Hed　the　noises　of　his　struggle　with　the　winds　were　heard。　The　wizards　had　left　the　plain；　he　felt　the　passage　of　their　power　as　they　responded　to　bewilderment　and　fear。　Twilight　drifted　over　the　plain；　and　then　night；　and　he　wrestled　with　the　cold；　sinewy；　wolf…voiced　winds　of　darkness。
　　　　　　　He　drew　the　power　of　the　winds　to　a　fine　precision。　He　could　have　trained　an　east　wind　on　the　innermost　point　of　the　cairn　beside　him　and　sent　the　stones　flying　all　over　the　plain。　He　could　have　picked　a　snow…flake　off　the　ground；　or　turned　one　of　the　fallen　guards　lightly　buried　under　snow　to　see　her　face。　All　along　both　sides　of　the　plain　hundreds　of　fires　had　been　lit　al